Alameda High School - Acorn Yearbook (Alameda, CA)

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“By Jove!” I exclaimed, “I didn’t realize he was as young as that. | should fancy you are alarmed about his being out on this thoroughfare alone ;” and I hastened my steps, for I had visions of dashing horses or speeding motors crushing the life out of the poor little chap. Mrs. Merton looked up at me as I said this, and seeing that I had now become really worried and anxious, her face paled and her voice quivered as she said, “You see, now, Mr. Pierman, how frightened I am. And I am so much more anxious because he isn’t mine. He is everything to her. Oh, she will be wild—wild if anything should happen to him. Oh, dear me!” I tried to calm her, and told her I felt sure we should find him safe and sound somewhere. But as we passed block after block, with no sign of him, my anxiety was not lessened. On the contrary, my companion was very quiet now, so quiet, in fact, that I looked down at her, and to my consterna- tion I found she was struggling hard to keep the tears back. Now, a weeping woman always sets me on edge, for I never know what she is going to do next; and on this occasion it was the last straw, and I blurted out, “Please don’t do that—don’t you know, ah—can’t you see that—, ah—oh that it won't be any use—that it won’t do any good?” “You s-stupid! I can’t h-help it,” she wailed. ‘‘S-suppose I should n-never see dear little T-Ted again—I d-don’t know what my sister—.”” But the last was incoherent as she sobbed in her handkerchief, no doubt thinking me a most inhuman wretch. But I was provoked. “Of all beastly situations!” I muttered, swinging my cane viciously in air, vowing never again to help a weeping American woman find a three year old Teddy; and I stalked ahead. But just then we were nearing a stately resi- dence in South Park Row, when, surprised by a little cry of delight, I turned and saw my late companion flying thru the gate and up to the steps. There she stooped and gathered something into her arms. “Did zee poor lil fellow come home all by his self, and didn’t he get runned over at allie—well ducky boy ,” came wafted on the air to my astonished ears. “See, Mr. Pierman!” she called holding up her prize. ‘Here's Teddy!” I gasped and nearly lost my balance, for in her arms, arrayed in a s carlet coat, was—a curly, brown, lap-dog! ! Pearl Nichols, °17

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WAS nearing one of the shops when out of a door hurried a young American woman, Mrs. Merton, whom I knew slightly. Looking up and down the street anxiously, she caught sight of 2 me and said rather wildly as 1 bowed and would have passed on, “Oh, please, have you seen anything of Teddy?” “Teddy!” I repeated in astonishment. You-mean-your-er—.” “No, no!” she cried. “My sister’s. That is the worst part of it; she would be wild if I should lose him! Oh, we must find him; we must!” “Yes, yes, of course we'll find him,” I assured her; and thereupon I began to look up and down the street. “Do you think that he might have gone home?” I ventured, as there was no sign of Teddy anywhere along the street. “Why, perhaps he has,” she said, brightening. “He knows the way home, I think, as we live not far from here. But, would you—would you— mind, if, that is would it be too much trouble to ask you to come with me, so that in case we don’t find him, you could notify the police or something?” she queried, distress written plainly on her face. I assured her it would be no trouble at all and that I would gladly be of any assistance to her. As we walked along in the direction of her home, both alert for the little runaway, I asked her to tell me something about Teddy. “Oh, he is such a darling!” she began enthusiastically. “He has the dearest curly brown hair and the brightest brown eyes in his cute little face. He’s so good, and oh, he is too cute in a little red coat that Edith, my sister, made him! I know you'd love him; you couldn’t help it.” “Indeed!” said I rather doubtfully, for I’m not passionately fond of youngsters. “How old did you say he is?” I interrogated. “T don’t think I said, did 12” she laughed. “But he has acquired the great age of three years.”

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aS he , Shining and white in the light of the day, Cutting the fields from the river away Lies the wanderer’s road. Far, it gleams, in the sunset light, ‘Til it turns a curve, and is out of sight, Climbing the hills of brown. Calling forever it twists along, Singing always the same gay song As it winds away from the town. Who would learn of a far country Where fair green hills slope down to a sea, To a sea of turquoise blue; Where white-sailed ships beach on the sands, Bringing the treasures of foreign lands Back, o’er the sea, to you? “Those who would learn, come, follow me, Leave your dull homes, and away with me, For I'll call until you die.” So it sings as it runs away, Nor ceases to call with the close of day, And men harken to its cry. Once you hark to it, always you wander, Always follow, nor stop to ponder What is the way of the road. Shining and white in the light of day, Cutting the fields from the river away, This is the wanderer’s road. Janet Brown , June 718